Sirius's Escape
by Pasi
Summary: Sirius runs away from home.


Sirius's Escape

"Regulus had his friends to stay over the Christmas hols last year, Mum. We won't be any trouble, I promise. I've got the whole two weeks plotted out."

Mum was quite mad. Except for Uncle Alphard, none of the grownups had ever seemed to notice, much less care. Not even Dad.

Mum was mad, and Mum hated Sirius. So, long ago, Sirius had learned to sound nonchalant when he asked for something he wanted badly. To sound as if he didn't care whether he got it or not. If he sounded as though he wanted more than anything to pretend for a little while that he lived in a normal home, that he could have some mates to visit him over the vac like any normal bloke did, Mum would say no. And either laugh or shriek and spit bile when she did it.

"What friends?" Mum's question came out on a low hiss. Who said basilisks were just jumped-up snakes out of stories meant to scare the shit out of kids? Sirius almost turned his eyes away.

"James Potter." Sirius led off with the most respectable name. And, yeah, he sounded smooth. Cool as ice. Like he didn't care. "And Peter Pettigrew. Their dads work in London. Maybe you know them, Dad?"

He'd better know Harry Potter, James's dad. Dad was an advocate, had an office in the Inns of Court. Mr. Potter had just been made Chief Justice of the Wizengamot. And Mr. Pettigrew, Culture Minister for the Thames District, showed up at all the best parties in season, rubbing elbows with the Rookwoods and Malfoys. And the Blacks.

Dad came through. "I know them."

"Mudblood-lovers," Mum spat.

Dad almost winced. Sirius didn't need that heightened sensitivity that Dumbledore and McGonagall claimed he had to see that.

But he was Mum's husband, and a Black. "Yes," he said coldly. "Mudblood-lovers. Especially Justice Potter." 

Dad had to know, with Mr. Potter in, that his chances of winning his clients' cases had just dropped into the toilet and been flushed down the London sewers.

Sirius kept cool. Ice. Frozen solid inside. "I'd like Remus Lupin to come, too. You know. The Caerdon Lupins. Pureblood since the days of the Druids."

"And poor as mice." But Mum sounded mollified in comparison. Purity of blood meant more than heaps of gold, give her that. It helped, of course, that she didn't know Remus was a werewolf. Good thing Christmas was the new moon this year.

And now the pièce de résistance. If he could pull this off, the first happy Christmas of his life might be within his reach. "And James's girlfriend. Lily Evans. British cousin to the Dublin Evanses."

Couple of stretchers, there. Evans had yet to go out with James once, though he'd been working on her since last spring. And she was Muggle-born. Her family didn't come from Dublin, but from one of those dull Muggle suburbs outside London where all the houses looked alike.

Sirius liked her, though. She was powerful, very cool, and one of the few people--like him--who didn't kiss James's ass. 

But she was a Mudblood, in the filthy-mouthed terminology of Mum and her friends. Of Dad and most of his relations. Of Regulus, Sirius's twerpy little brother. 

Regulus had been the weak link in Sirius's plan. He hadn't dared to think of asking to have his friends over to Grimmauld Place for Christmas until he'd heard Mum gush out her permission to her little Reggie to go up to Birmingham to the Goyles' for hols.

Birmingham? The Goyles? You'd think Mum would have better taste. The Snapes were classier, for Christ's sake. It only proved how barmy Mum was. But at least sweet little Reggie wouldn't be around to indulge in his favorite pastime of getting Sirius in trouble by tattling the truth to Mum and Dad about Lily Evans.

Thank light and dark little Reggie didn't know Remus Lupin was a werewolf. But that was one secret not even a Dementor would be able to suck out of Sirius Black, if he ended his days in Azkaban the way Mum and Dad were always saying he would.

"Still, Althea, the Potters are decent people. In spite of Harry Potter's unorthodox views," Dad said. "And I am representing Hiram Avery's suit before the Wizengamot in January . . . "

With Chief Justice Harry Potter sitting on the bench. You could always count on Dad to know which side his bread was buttered on.

"Oh, all right!" Mum snapped. "As long as I don't have to see them. Or you," she added, looking at Sirius in cold fury.

The feeling's mutual, Sirius thought, hating her. But he kept that out of his voice and, he hoped, his eyes. "Shan't be home much at all, actually, Mum. We'd planned on going out a lot, if that's all right with you."

Evidently it was, for Mum already had the Prophet open in front of her face, inches from her nose, as if she used the newspaper to shield herself from her son.

Sirius's owl went out with invitations and returned quickly with acceptances. The friends followed on Boxing Day. James was confident--why not, the Potters were every bit as respectable as the Blacks--and that attitude he had, of being a bit stuck on himself, actually went over pretty well with Mum. Remus was calm and affable, easily able to soothe Mum's perpetually ruffled feathers. Peter employed the cautious courtesy he always used in new situations and unfamiliar surroundings.

Lily was scared shitless.

Oh, she didn't show it. On the outside, she was cheery and chatty, quite a bit less tart than usual, even with James. But her fear rang harshly and constantly in Sirius's mind, like some kind of fire or ambulance bell, until his head ached with it. He did have that Examiner's talent, looked like. And he soon wished he didn't.

They spent their days in the shops and at the downtown skating rink, skating past the Muggles' electrically-lit Christmas tree, veering in and out around little Muggle kids, who fell on their bums with squeals of delight. They spent their nights in the Muggle clubs, surrounded by electricity again--swirling strobe lights and loud, electronically-enhanced dance music. Sirius loved it all. He found reason to refer to "my friends, staying with me over Christmas" to every cashier, ticket-taker, bartender and bouncer he talked to, including the ones to whom he presented their faked ID, magically backdated by two years ("'Course we're eighteen. See?").

His guests loved it, too. At first, even Lily had fun, seeing Muggle haunts for the first time through wizards' eyes, explaining things like TV, movies, post offices, parking meters and cash registers to her wondering audience.

Sirius had had qualms at first, even with Regulus out of the way, but he hadn't wanted to leave her out of the visit. Lily's family was a little weird about her being a witch. Her Mum and Dad were all right, but, according to the stories Lily told, her sister Petunia and Petunia's friends were downright nasty, making every vacation Lily spent at home a misery.

Sirius felt her pain. It was so like his own, after all. He hadn't wanted to leave her alone at school to envy all the fun the rest of them had over Christmas. She had girlfriends, sure, but they'd all gone home for hols. And since last spring all of them, James and, on his behalf, James's mates, had made such an effort that the Marauders, Lily had declared at the Halloween feast, were her best pals.

Still, they had to spend some time at Grimmauld Place, if only to eat and sleep. And, though Mum was happy enough to have him out of the way, Dad soon began carping at Sirius about how this was his home, not just a place where he got free meals and laundry service while he was in town.

Dad stressed Sirius bad on the Monday after Christmas, after the Marauders had partied the whole weekend. Later, James said they'd all heard Dad and him yelling at each other.

"We could stay in tonight. I'd rather, anyway. I'm beat," James said.

"If it's because of Dad, never mind him. He and Mum are always bitching at me."

"My Mum and Dad would say the same thing, if I had you over to my house and we never ate a meal in."

"Oh, would they? You mean your dad's always calling you an ungrateful little whelp and a disgrace to your family? I doubt it."

James looked uncomfortable. "Well, they hate scenes and all that. But we are treating your parents like they're running a bed and breakfast, not like your Mum and Dad, our hosts. It's kind of rude, you know?"

"It's all right if it's us, Potter. The lads. The purebloods. What about Lily?"

James looked away. Oh, yeah. He knew what the Blacks were like. 

"It was her idea. She told me to mention it to you. She wants to have dinner and spend the evening with your family." 

"Did you tell her what she was getting into?"

"She said your parents had been nothing but polite to her. And even if they weren't, she'd have to start learning sometime how to deal with the prejudice against Muggle-borns. Said she might as well start now. If you ask me, she still feels guilty about turning Snape over to me at the end of last term, after he called her a Mudblood when she was sticking up for him by the lake, after O.W.L.'s."

"'Turning Snape over to you--?!' What's she talking about? Snivellus brought that on himself! He'd just hit you with a Slicing hex!"

"Come on, Sirius!" James snapped. "Cut me some slack here, will you? This means something to Lily. It's all wrapped up with her identity as a witch, this idea that she's got to keep her dignity among these people who bad-mouth Muggle-borns, face them down if she has to. If I can't talk you into letting us eat dinner with your parents one night this week, she won't give me the time of day!"

"Right. You did tell her about the Dublin Evanses?"

James sighed and nodded.

"And?"

James looked at him without saying a single word.

Sirius shrugged. "Okay, mate. It's her funeral. And you can tell her that from me."

Dad was civil enough. After all, at his job in the City, he had to rub elbows not only with Justice Potter, but some real lunatic fringe Muggle-lovers, like William Weasley, Artie's dad. The lads certainly did their part. James held Mum's chair for her and Remus poured her wine. Even Peter--gulping only occasionally--asked after Mum's side of the family, as well as after Uncle Alphard's kids, Sirius's cousins.

The butterflies were still too busy in Sirius's stomach for him to participate, or even to take any more than a quarter of his usual plate-filling helpings of mashed potatoes and roast beef. Nobody seemed to notice--maybe because Potter, the twit, was shoveling it in as though he hadn't a care in the world.

Mum was ignoring Sirius. She had her eyes fixed on Lily, the unknown quantity in her tight little equation. Lily looked calmly back, with those beautiful green eyes of hers. True witch's eyes--nobody could argue with that.

Mum took a slow sip of wine, then said: "My mother went to school with a cousin of yours at Derry, Miss Evans."

Derry Witching Academy, that was, the totally toff finishing school for witches in Ireland. Sirius swallowed hard on a too-big chunk of beef, one that really hurt going down. He hadn't counted on Mum actually knowing an Evans, though maybe he should have done. Good thing he'd said Lily's branch was a distant one.

Maybe Lily remembered that, too, maybe that was why she was keeping her cool. James was mad, as usual, to think she'd do anything bonkers like--

"Actually, Mrs. Black, you couldn't possibly have gone to school with one of my cousins," Lily said.

Mum paused, her eyes glittering coldly. Dad set his fork down and looked at her. Remus and Peter turned to her, too. James, his eyes two great hazel orbs behind his glasses, stared at Lily. In the silence, you could have heard--hell, not just a pin, but a hair from the underbelly of a newborn unicorn drop.

Sirius's stomach started churning like a whirlpool. And it wasn't because the potatoes and roast beef hadn't agreed with him.

Just then, there was noise at the front door and in the hallway--the door opening, thumpings, scrapings and footsteps, hallooing and the squeaking of houselves rushing to be of service.

"Hey, Mum! Dad!" a voice called from the hallway.

Beaming, Dad rose from his seat. "Regulus!"

Regulus piled into the dining room. Gregory Goyle hulked in behind him. "Just thought we'd grace the family homestead with our presence for a few--"

Regulus stopped and looked slowly around the dining room, taking in the scene. Sirius, his jaw set, leaning on his elbows on the table, stared back.

He'd told every one of his guests that he wouldn't have attempted to invite them if he hadn't known Regulus would be out of town. Because he wouldn't have invited any of them if he couldn't have invited Lily. It wouldn't have been right.

And, of course, Regulus, after sweeping the entire table with eyes colder than Mum's, stopped on Lily. Goyle-- his eyes looking, by contrast, about as lively as a shitpile--was already there.

"Mum. Dad." An evil smile lent its sickly light to Regulus's features. "You didn't tell me your--views had changed."

Mum smiled fondly back at her favorite. Dad had sat back down.

"What do you mean, son?" he asked in a voice filled with all the fatherly friendliness Sirius never heard when Dad addressed him.

"My views," Mum said, "never change."

"But they must have done, Mum," Regulus said, still smiling. "For you to be sitting down at the Black family table, eating dinner with a Mudblood."

Dad's face went white. "What?--who?"

Regulus cocked his chin in Lily's direction. "Her. I know her. That filthy little upstart. Evans."

Mum gave a crisp little nod, then took her wand out from the depths of her robes and pointed it at Lily. "I wondered, Orion. Wondered from the first, when Sirius asked us whether his Griffyndor friends could visit, whether our dear, tender little babe wasn't lying to us. I can't tell any more, you know. No wonder Dumbledore wants to apprentice him."

Apprentice me? But Sirius didn't have the time to ask what Mum meant. He stood up, keeping his eyes on Mum's wand hand. James, he saw out of the corner of his eye, was already on his feet, shielding Lily.

"Now, Mum," Sirius said, forcing calmness into his voice. "Put your wand away, you don't want to hurt our guests. Dad, tell her to put her wand away."

Now Remus and Peter were up. Peter trembled visibly. Remus's silvery gray eyes darted from Mum to Dad to James and Lily, to Sirius, then started their circuit again. His hand rested on his vest inside the open front of his robe, over the inside pocket where he kept his wand. 

"You lied to us, Sirius?" Dad said. "You brought a Mudblood into my house?"

"She's here, but she won't stay," Mum said, extending her wand toward Lily. "Will you, you dirty, lying little Mudblood slut?" 

James moved forward, thrusting his hand inside his robe. "That's it, Mrs. Black--"

Mum tipped her wand, aimed it at James's chest. "Stupe--!"

Sirius had his wand out before he'd thought, before she'd finished shouting her spell. "Expelliarmus!"

Mum's wand flew straight to his free hand. Mum whirled around with it, her mouth agape and her eyes wide in shock.

Sirius glanced at her wand clutched in his left hand, stunned himself. How many times since he'd learned the spells had he been narked at Mum and Dad and tried to summon or expell their wands? He'd never actually done it before--

"Stupefy!" Dad's voice yelled. A sound like a crack of thunder followed. A huge blow of pain struck the center of Sirius's back, throwing him forward. The floor rushed toward his face, but just before he struck it, everything went black.

Sirius blinked groggily into darkness. Feeling alone told him that he was flat on his aching back in his own bed. He tried to sit up, gasping when an even sharper pain knifed into him, tearing at his back muscles. It felt as though somebody really malicious, like maybe Lucius Malfoy back in the bad old days before his graduation, had bowled several bludgers in succession at Sirius's back. 

Gritting his teeth, biting back whimpers of pain, Sirius stood up. After stretching cautiously and walking around the room a bit, he began to feel better. 

Moonlight was filtering through the closed curtains, but, still, Sirius could hardly see a foot in front of his face. He felt with his feet for his slippers (the floor was freezing), then, after sliding them on, went to the window, drew the curtains back and stared out into the empty, streetlamp-lit silence of Grimmauld Square.

He should have known the one social event he'd ever hosted would blow up in everybody's face. Literally. Now, not only would he never again be allowed to have his friends at Grimmauld Place, they'd never be allowed to have him at their homes. Shit, if you were a parent, would you let any kid into your house whose Mum had tried to blow a Stunner at your kid? Or your kid's friend? Who'd called your kid, or your kid's friend, a "dirty Mudblood slut"?

Sirius gave the same answer to both of his own questions: No. Fucking. Way. 

He touched the windowsill. Warded. The spell's power trickled through his fingers, identifying itself to his own power.

Hm. He hadn't been able to sense that last year, when Mum and Dad had locked him up for cursing them out when they'd insulted James's parents to him one time too many. He'd needed his wand to tell him he was warded in.

Where was his wand, by the way? He shuffled over to his dresser-top, then to his robes hanging neatly in the closet, where some house elf must have put them after changing Sirius into his pajamas. No wand on the dresser, no wand in any of his robe pockets.

Mum and Dad had nicked it, of course. 

Just then spell and physical keys rattled in the lock of Sirius's bedroom door. He turned from the closet to see Mum and Dad coming in. They both had their wands out, pointing at him, like he was a criminal or something.

The sight opened a crack along a fault line in Sirius's heart. The last time he'd gone home with James, he'd watched Mr. and Mrs. Potter hug and kiss James. James pretended to be embarrassed, but that was bullshit. And then, Mrs. Potter had hugged Sirius in greeting and Mr. Potter had shaken his hand.

Same thing when he'd gone to Remus's. Werewolf that he was, Remus's parents weren't ashamed to hug him in front of Sirius. Mr. Lupin had been bluffly kind and Mrs. Lupin gravely courteous, in that intellectual-heavyweight way she had about her. Even Peter's parents, though they did sometimes embarrass Peter by comparing him to his friends, had always been friendly to Sirius when he'd seen them at school events.

And Sirius's Mum and Dad? The ones who were supposed to love him best of all? His Mum drew her wand on his friend and called her dirty names. His Dad Stunned him hard enough to put him out for a couple of hours at least, hard enough so that his back still hurt from it.

He couldn't remember the last time Mum had hugged and kissed him, couldn't remember the last time Dad had been kind.

"What do you two want?" Sirius said resentfully.

"That is no way to address your mother and father, young man." Dad's voice was hard with anger. But, sliding a glance at Mum, he pocketed his wand.

Mum kept hers pointing at Sirius's chest. "But no more than we expect from Dumbledore's apprentice. From Dumbledore's and Potter's spy."

"What are you talking about?" Sirius said. "What's this apprentice shi-- stuff?"

"Filthy-mouthed little--. As if you didn't know. By the Dark, if I hadn't seen you come out of my own body, I wouldn't believe you were my son." Mum threw at Sirius the folded parchment she'd been holding in her free hand. "Here is what I'm talking about."

The parchment landed on the floor at Sirius's feet. He picked it up, unfolded it and read. 

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Black:

I hope my letter finds you well and enjoying your Christmas holiday.

I am writing to you about your son Sirius. Though his behavior is not the subject of this letter, I am happy to be able to tell you that it has been a full month since Sirius has earned any detentions or demerits for himself or his House.

At sixteen, as you know, Sirius is a young man growing quickly to adulthood. To those at Hogwarts with trained sensitivities, including myself and Sirius's Head of House, Professor McGonagall, the strong signature and unique nature of Sirius's magical power has become increasingly evident over the past few months. It is our opinion that Sirius's Magic is powerful and volatile enough to profit from a firm and consistent direction.

I would like to request the honor of meeting with you at your earliest convenience, to discuss the possibility of your allowing Sirius to Apprentice with me for intensive study in the fundamentals of Psychic Examination, for which, as I believe I have mentioned to you before, he shows a remarkable native talent. As I'm sure you know, this would entail my Examination of the heart of his Magic, to discover whether his power exhibits the quality and strength this Apprenticeship would require. For that, as law and the Examiner's Ethical Code requires, I will need to disclose to you in person the nature of my Examination and obtain your written consent.

Would you be so kind as to name a convenient date and time for our meeting by return owl? If you find you are unable to come to Hogwarts, I would be happy to meet with you in London, at Grimmauld Place or elsewhere.

Very truly yours,

Albus Dumbledore

Headmaster, Hogwarts School

Sirius blinked. "I still don't get it."

Mum's grip tightened on her wand. "Don't you dare lie to me," she hissed.

Dad lifted a hand. "Althea. Let me try." He turned to Sirius. "Now, boy. We shall pretend you don't understand the meaning of what we're talking about since, possibly, you don't understand the enormity of what we're talking about. We received this letter not an hour after your friends left--"

"After you put me out, you mean!" Sirius clenched his fists. "What did you do to them? You hadn't better have hurt them!"

"We haven't laid a finger on your friends," Dad said.

"Though maybe we should have," said Mum.

Dad stopped her by lifting his hand again. "What I shouldn't have done was allow Dumbledore to talk me out of seeking the Wizengamot's opinion on the validity of a rag of a Hat's deciding my son's House, his companions, his future--"

"His loyalties," Mum spat.

"All at the age of eleven and against his family's tradition and his parents' will. I should have stood firm then. Dumbledore was on the Wizengamot, but he wasn't Chief Justice, he hadn't stacked it with his cronies. I might have gotten a favorable decision then, or at least roused some interest in the issue among the reliable families. Now . . . ." 

Dad's voice trailed off. He gave Sirius a very odd look.

"Now what?" Sirius asked.

"Now you're a Gryffindor. Your nature is Gryffindor. Your best friend, James Potter, is Gryffindor. You spend as much time with his family, which is headed by my opponent in Ministry and Court, as you spend with your own blood. Harry Potter is a Gryffindor, and the ally of Albus Dumbledore. Who is also a Gryffindor." 

"You talk like Dumbledore's some kid rooting for the wrong Quidditch team! Dumbledore's not a Gryffindor! He's Headmaster!"

"That's what you know," Dad said. "Or maybe, as your mother says, what you pretend to know. Dumbledore is so much a Gryffindor that it's he who carries Godric's Sword."

"Huh?" Sirius said.

"The Sword of Gryffindor. Dumbledore has inherited it. Don't tell me you've never seen it, the number of times you've been sent to his office. Or does the old man hide it from the students?"

"What does it matter?" Mum spoke to Dad, but locked her eyes tight on Sirius. "He's in Dumbledore's office several times a month. Ordered there by his Head of House, McGonagall. Dumbledore's Vestal Virgin. Regulus told us, and he's right. They're all in it together. Sirius commits some infraction or other, McGonagall sends him to Dumbledore's office to be scolded, Dumbledore hears him out and gives him the kindly, fatherly--and very long--lecture. In private, so the rest of us don't know what they really talk about. And all by prior arrangement. With his son James as enticement, Harry Potter began the subversion. I suppose Albus Dumbledore means to finish it."

Mum raked Sirius from head to toe with her eyes. He felt a weight like a hand pressing his forehead and a sickly tingling in the pit of his stomach. Instinctively he threw his power against the weight.

Mum frowned. Then, lifting her wand so that it was aiming straight at his heart, she took a step forward.

"As I said before, Sirius, I can't read you," she said softly. "You've hidden even your feelings away. I used to sort through you as I do Regulus, like a deck of cards." 

"Althea," Dad said uneasily.

"Don't you see, Orion? Dumbledore's teaching him, that's why I can't see into him. Our Sirius, who used to wear his heart on his sleeve, is practically an Occlumens now. Dumbledore has fashioned him into a weapon and aims him against us, against those few of us still devoted to purity of blood. Because he can't get at us any other way."

"Mum. What the hell are you going on about?"

Sirius hoped to goad her into anger, to see rage rather than that heartless coldness in her eyes. 

But Mum kept her cool. "Dumbledore's spy, presented to him by Harry Potter. That's what you are, you filth. My question is this: whom does the Ministry's Gray Eminence expect you to betray to him, now that they're starting to throw the members of our party into Azkaban? Whom of your blood kin?"

Unable to speak, Sirius stared at Mum. Her eyes grew colder, emptier still, devoid of anything but a commmanding malevolence.

"Answer me," Mum said. "Imperio."

--And you will earn my love.

For a split second, just before it swirled its comforting, gently urging mist into his brain, just before he succumbed, Sirius remembered from that term's Defense Against the Dark Arts classes how the Imperius Curse worked.

Tell me what Dumbledore wants. You know you want me to love you as I love Regulus. You know you want to deserve my love. If you tell me, you will. If you'll tell me what your treachery for Dumbledore will be, I'll love you.

"I'm sorry, Mum, I--" Sirius whispered. He looked into Mum's eyes, longing for nothing more than to please her. But he couldn't, he never could. He blinked away the tears of self-pity that rose to his eyes and struggled on. "He just says things like--Sirius, you're sensitive enough to know how much bullying hurts its victim, you're intelligent enough to know how dangerous it is for you and your friends to sneak into the Forbidden Forest at night. Then he doubles the detention McGonagall's given me and sends me off." He delved into his mind, sweating in the effort of searching for what she wanted, of trying, one more time, to please her. Nothing. "But--that's all."

Mum released him. Sirius gasped in exhaustion and relief.

"Well, Althea--I guess that--settles it." Dad's voice quavered. He stopped for a moment, then went on. "Dumbledore hasn't gotten to him. Not yet, anyway. All we have to do is forbid the Apprenticeship."

"Maybe," Mum said. She looked back at Sirius. "But you've always underestimated our Sirius. Our Golden Boy. Aglow with his golden power, the stuff of Legilimency. And Occlumency. Just the one to give our family and our party to that Crouch, that smarmy creature heading up Criminal Investigations. To betray Marcus and Lucius. Bellatrix and Narcissa. Regulus. All the Death Eaters. We must be careful, Orion. We must be sure. And I'm not sure yet."

Mum extended her arm a bit, the wand held firm, the point aimed at Sirius's chest.

"But I know how to make sure." 

And suddenly, looking into Mum's eyes, seeing golden light fall on the darkest recesses of her mind, Sirius knew. His heart pounded with terror, swelled until it hurt with grief. "No, Mum," he whispered. "Please."

He saw the invisible spell hurtling toward him, dove to the floor yelping with pain as it struck a glancing blow to his shoulder, as Mum's voice rang out:

"Crucio!"

The floorboards cracked behind Sirius, creating a smoking hole straight through the first floor ceiling, right in front of his bed. Sirius rolled forward and scrambled to his feet. Mum pointed her wand at him again. He lunged for the door, knocking her wand arm up, shoving her aside so hard she collided into the wall. He yanked the door open (thank God Mum and Dad hadn't locked or warded it behind them!) and ran.

Mum's and Dad's voices followed him down the stairs and through the front door.

"--Regulus, don't let him get away! Call Marcus Malfoy! Orion! Let me go, I tell you, let me go!"

"No, Althea! Think what you're doing! Sirius is our son!"

"He's not our son, he's our shame ! Blood traitor, abomination, shame of my flesh . . .!"

Sirius ran, ran until the voices faded away, until he left Grimmauld Place far behind him, until his breath scraped harshly, raggedly in his chest.

Where was he going? He didn't know. He didn't care. He just wanted to run until he collapsed, until he passed out, until he didn't have to think, didn't have to feel any more.

He walked and ran until the sun rose, until he couldn't bend his knees and lift his feet any more. He staggered, gasped for air, moaned with the effort of breathing. He leaned against a lamppost, breathing, breathing, until he had the strength to look about him.

He was far from Grimmauld Square, in a grimy neighborhood he'd never seen bofore, Muggle by the number of cars and bicycles, heavily Indian, by the dark faces and eyes, the musical voices and the brightly colored turbans and saris the people wore.

And the food. Spicy, savory, delicious, if the aroma wafting out of the door of the tiny restaurant across the narrow street meant anything.

Sirius was breathing slowly now, and the one or two people who had glanced fearfully at him shrugged their shoulders and moved on.

The smell from the restaurant opened a cavern inside him, a yawning abyss demanding food now. He hadn't eaten anything of substance since lunch yesterday. He stepped into the street, patting his pockets, then stopped short, nearly colliding with a bicycle messenger. 

He was still in his pajamas, and he didn't carry Galleons, much less pound notes, in his pajama pockets. He had no money at all. And now that the sweat from running was drying on him, he was shivering with cold.

A shiny Jag nearly clipped him. Its driver yelled a curse, threw him a rude gesture and sped on. Sirius sprinted across the street in terror, pulling up short in front of the Indian restaurant. The aroma of cooking food made him giddy with hunger. His stomach growled like a particularly frustrated Moony in the Shrieking Shack. A kindly-looking old lady in a sari and an overcoat was strolling toward him, wicker shopping basket in hand. Maybe he could cadge a few Muggle shillings for breakfast from her . . . .

A skinny little cove, his face twisted with rage, burst out the restaurant door. Fairly bouncing in front of Sirius, he pointed at a sign in the window.

"See! See!" he said in a thick Indian accent. "'No Loitering!' Walk on now! Walk on, or I call old bill!"

Slang for Muggle aurors. Sirius didn't need them. "Yeah, sure," he muttered and jogged off into the next street.

This street was even grimier than the last. Now what? Sirius wondered. Food, his stomach answered. He even began taking a second look at garbage bins, when he saw a tramp paw through one and pull out a full loaf of bread still in its bakery wrappings.

He turned a corner, then heard the grinding, coughing sound of the engine of a huge vehicle. Remembering his close call with the Jaguar, he plastered himself flat against the sooty wall of an apartment building. 

A three-decker bus lurched around the corner. The Knight Bus, thank the Light! Sirius ran up as the bus stopped and its doors slid open. The driver, a wizard with a silvery brushcut and cool blue eyes looked up from a parchment he was perusing and nodded when Sirius climbed aboard.

Sirius was heading down the aisle, looking for a first-level seat when he heard the driver's voice behind him.

"Sirius Black, runaway. Right, then: to Juvenile Hall at the Ministry for Criminal Investigations."

Sirius whirled and dove out the double doors just as they were beginning to slide together. They closed on his ankle with a biting pain. He cried out, wriggled his foot and yanked it free, leaving his slipper caught between the doors. He stumbled, nearly fell, then caught his balance again and ran.

Mum and Dad had got hold of some friend of theirs in the Ministry, Malfoy probably--hadn't Mum yelled at Regulus to call him? They'd sent the Aurors after Sirius, to drag him back so his barmy Mum could torture him while his puling coward of a Dad looked on. He'd never go back, never, he couldn't stand to be a Black anymore, couldn't stand their madness and evil, couldn't think--

He stopped thinking. His two feet became four, and the bare one stopped hurting from the cutting of the street cobbles. His skin turned to black fur. Dog-consciousness swept through his mind, scouring it clean of human troubles, anxieties and shame, of human thought. Padfoot knew what to do. He turned and loped at a steady speed toward the West End of London, where Prongs lived.

Padfoot stopped only long enough to make breakfast out of a fat sewer rat he caught scuttling through an alley. Then he loped again. The fashionable Muggle neighborhood where Prongs's parents had bought their house was miles away from Grimmauld Square and the Indian block. 

It was about noon, the sun at its slanting zenith, when Padfoot arrived in the West End. He reconnoitered first. The streets looked quiet and smelled calm. Many of the humans were at work or out of town for the holidays. 

But Prongs's family looked as though they were at home. Mr. Potter's station wagon sat in the drive outside the rambling, turreted old Victorian house his family lived in. Padfoot trotted across the street toward the open front gate.

And stopped, backed away, cowered behind a collection of garbage cans the Potters' neighbors had left in front of their house. For he'd seen two black-cloaked and hooded figures hiding behind the box hedge that grew just outside the wrought-iron fence that surrounded the Potters' garden.

The figures--two men, by the looks of them--didn't seem to have noticed the great black Grim-sized dog that had come so close to them. Their heads close, they seemed to be whispering to each other. Padfoot crept forward silently and, to make the most of his dog-hearing, pricked up his ears.

"--James Potter is Sirius Black's best friend. Harry Potter indulges both boys, that's what Althea and Orion say. Now if Harry Potter could be shown to be harboring the runaway son of his fiercest opponent in the Ministry--"

Marcus Malfoy. The figure turned and Padfoot saw that Malfoy's face was covered by an expressionless white mask with slits for his eyes.

"--Why, the public would be more than justified in asking whether such a wizard is right for the position of Chief Justice of the Wizengamot--" another voice said.

Marcus Malfoy and Augustus Rookwood.

Mum's and Dad's cronies. Not just pureblood traditionalists. Death Eaters, part of that gang whose chief (Voldemort, wasn't that what he called himself?) was number one on Criminal Investigations' Most Wanted List..

Was that what Mum meant? That she thought Sirius, as Dumbledore's spy, would turn in her Death Eater friends to the Ministry of Magic?

Neither Padfoot nor Sirius gave a shit. Sirius just wanted to get away. He was Light, he was Golden, he was whatever the hell it meant to be not a Black. But he'd read in the Prophet about these Death Eaters. Just last month they'd bushwhacked the husband of an Auror in Moody's Special Unit, firewhipped him and dumped him on his wife's front doorstep. As a lesson to her, the Dark Mark-sealed note pinned to his shirtfront had declared. 

Padfoot wasn't going to let them get even the idea of hunting bigger game. Like Chief Justice Harry Potter, his wife, Ellen Potter, or his son, James Potter. Padfoot sent up a howl and lunged for Malfoy and Rookwood.

Just as he'd expected, they drew their wands and started shooting Stunners. Padfoot was fast enough and far enough away to dodge them. 

"Damn, that's a Grim! What's a Grim doing here!" said Rookwood.

Padfoot kept on lunging, barking and dodging. He snapped his jaw, with a sharp click of his front fangs, within an inch of Malfoy's outstretched free hand, then dodged the spell Malfoy shot at him.

"I don't know what it's doing here!" Malfoy gasped. "Worse than bad luck's what it means! Sirius, Dumbledore's spy running to the Potters!" Padfoot ducked another Stunner from his wand. "We shouldn't have listened to Althea's blather!"

And then, just as Padfoot had hoped, voices began shouting in the Potters' front garden.

"What's going on out here!" Mr. Potter.

"If we're seen!" Rookwood rasped. "If the Lord finds out we were here--!"

With a couple of loud cracks, they Disapparated.

Then: "Snuffles! Here, boy! C'mon, lad!"

Prongs.

Padfoot ran like the wind through the Potters' gate, to Mr. Potter and his son. To James, into whose arms he leaped, whose face he licked, as he wagged his tail in joy and whined in relief.

With the third roast beef sandwich that Mrs. Potter placed before him, at the Potters' kitchen table, Sirius the human finally slowed his eating down enough to be able to talk. He told Mr. Potter, Mrs. Potter and James everything that had happened since James, Peter, Remus and especially Lily had fled Mum's wrath.

"Hmmm," said Mr. Potter thoughtfully after he was done. "Albus mentioned to me that he'd like you as his Apprentice. But he didn't tell me that you were such a natural at Legilimency and Occlumency as to nearly read your Mum's mind while blocking hers, such a sensitive Golden as to read Wards without a wand." He took James in with his glance. "And though I knew Remus was a werewolf, I didn't know you two were illegal Animages."

In Sirius's defense, James had admitted his own ability to transform into Prongs, though he'd kept Peter's Wormtail a secret.

Sirius put down the crusty ends of his sandwich. "Turn me in if you like, sir. If you have to. So long as you leave James out of it. No one's ever seen him. He's always been careful."

Mrs. Potter stared at him. "Sirius. We never--"

"Don't look so hard at us, Sirius," Mr. Potter said quietly. "It doesn't suit you. You're too young."

Sirius dropped his eyes.

"And let there be no talk of handing anybody over to anybody. I'm going to speak with your parents this afternoon. But, though perhaps I shouldn't say it to you, I think your mother needs a Healer's help. I want to try to get all of you back together, but only if I know you'll be safe. So you're welcome to stay with our family for as long as you think you need to."

"Thanks," Sirius muttered.

He had a barmy Mum. A Mum who didn't know how to love him. Everybody knew it. Sirius shut his eyes tight for a moment, trying to stuff the shame and grief into a back closet of his mind.

"You done yet, then?" James's voice broke through to him, as bright in its sound as the sunlight. "'Cause we're going to play Quidditch this afternoon on Witches' Green; Peter and Remus are coming, Lily's bringing her friend Marsha Mandrake; she's a great Chaser, Lily says. Come on!"

Sirius blinked a few more times. Then he leaped up from the table, said "See you at supper," to Mr. and Mrs. Potter, and followed his friend. 


End file.
